


Shine Bright Lavender Child

by PhoenixDiamond



Series: One-Shot Breek Requests [3]
Category: Trolls (2016)
Genre: Angst, Breek, Explicit lemon, Fluff, Humor, Kissing, M/M, Romance, ignores Epilogue
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 16:33:05
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12845118
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PhoenixDiamond/pseuds/PhoenixDiamond
Summary: Ignores epilogue. Takes place some months after bergens and trolls make peace. Creek is brought to a trial for his crimes. He receives his punishment and as time fades by, so do his colors. Branch isn't as thrilled about seeing the once proud troll seem so broken. And finding Creek crying one day all alone becomes Branch's undoing.





	Shine Bright Lavender Child

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Ardelia](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ardelia/gifts).



> Another Breek request made. This one is for you Ardelia my dear. I hope you like it! Yeah, I know its long. It suddenly came to life on it's own lol. Anyway, I hope you and everyone else enjoys it. It's a tad angsty, but there's plenty of humor and lemony goodness to make up for it. Please excuse the mistakes!

 

**Shine Bright Lavender Child**

 

Biggie and DJ had insisted Branch attend the trials for closure. Even he can’t resist admitting that seeing Creek get what he deserves would be the best kind of revenge.

For all the years of suffering, anguish and aggravation dealt on him, Branch thought karma couldn’t have reared her head at the perfect time. Although, it takes no time for Branch to lose all ambitions towards seeking vengeance on Creek upon arriving to the Judgment Mushroom; an enormously blotted mushroom kept out of sight of the villagers because it grew at the center of the Troll Tree. King Peppy has it grown here because it’s a place of little or no happiness. Why have something on display for everyone to gawk at and constantly wonder if they’ll be next to enter it and be the center of attention.

But none of them were. No one has been for years. It’s why so many trolls were hurrying past each other with an eagerness and firm thirst for justice to be served. Everyone has someone, knows someone eaten by a bergen. Twenty years ago, and the eradication of Trollistic seem to go hand in hand for them. The trolls saw Creek as the sole reason behind why they all suffered and needed someone to blame.

Today, it will be him. An opportunity placed on a worthy candidate.

By midafternoon, after everyone found their seats within the staggered seats jutting from the bark like sanded stairs, Creek is escorted down the middle, along a single path. All eyes fall on him, some disapproving, some disappointed, few were pity. It’s the first time in his life Branch has ever seen the villagers so deafly silent.

Two giant trolls stood on either side of Creek, whom was bound with spider rope in the front and his hair tightly knotted. He walked through his head up, his chin jutted forward and a confidence in his stride. It surprises Branch. Someone condemned shouldn’t be this sure of themselves.

Once they reach the prosecution stand, Creek is carefully lifted on its surface and pressed on his knees. The judge, a bejeweled golden skin Gem Troll with towering flaxen hair, adjusts his spectacles and gingerly stacks his documents.

“Creek, child of Zinnia and Sonya, you are hereby being accused of multiple charges of attempted murder, conspiracy to commit murder, high treason, conspiracy to commit treason against your royalty, kidnapping, reckless endangerment. . .”

The judge’s voice carries on long and drawn, so freaking long winded. Branch doesn’t blame Creek for wearing a tense expression whilst listening to the lengthy list of charges being read. And throughout it all, he doesn’t bow his head or blink or have the dignity to appear ashamed for his crimes. He just-just continues to stare on, face unreadable.

The judge finishes reading off the crimes Creek is charged with. “What is your plea?”

Then comes the first sign of regret, a grimace paling his colors a slighter shade of light purple and not it’s shiny lavender. Then is the narrowing of his eyes and the tilt of his head looking towards the judge’s seat and not the judge himself.

“I’m guilty.”

An audible gasp rushes from the crowd. A few of them bayed, the judge grimly nods, notating what’s said and order is called from the Giant Trolls demanding silence in respect for the judge.

“Before your trial begins, will you request assistance in your defense?” the judge questions.

“It hardly matters, your honor. No troll is insane enough to come to my defense,” is all Creek says when questioned if there were anything he would have to say on behalf of his defense for his actions against his fellow trolls. “I know it’s audacious of me to make a request, but I would like to ask to skip the rest of the preliminaries and grand jury. I’ll take my sentence whatever it may be.”

The judge pauses, a frown pinching his wrinkled brow. “I’ll ask you only once if you understand the possible consequences behind making such a request. It means there will be no opportunity to properly defend yourself. We will go straight to your conviction and based on your heinous crimes, you are eligible for exile.”

Branch’s fists clench against his will. It was practically a death sentence to exile a troll. No troll can survive without their population or without the subsistence that breathes from the Troll Tree. Even Branch managed to live without walking distance of the village because he knows he can’t survive without the presence of the other trolls. There’s no worse punishment.

Creek inclines his head. “I understand, your honor.”  

The judge sighs and a muted mumbling stirs in the crowd. “Very well,” the judge’s voice heightens above the chatter and he bangs his gavel once. “We will schedule your sentencing exactly fifteen days from today. Dismissed.”

As Creek is led down the aisle, head held up, he catches sight of Branch. Branch freezes at the intensity behind that brief stare, the gleam in those eyes, the sadness behind the fakest smile and there’s regret. So much of it, Branch can’t stand to see it and turns away when Creek is no longer visible.

Branch swallows, fingers flexing. Suddenly, he’s not so sure he’ll be OK with seeing Creek gone. For someone to smile like that, reflect so much sadness on their face, can that troll really be evil?

What should’ve taken a month or the very least a couple of weeks, was an accelerated trial.

Branch arrives to the Judgment Mushroom among the first and takes a seat in the second row. Poppy joins him, holding his hand, tears spilling from her eyes. She doesn’t make a sound, merely glaring straight ahead, palm shaking, mouth stretched in a tight line.

The rest of the village files in, gradually filling the spaces until everyone’s shoulder to shoulder. Moments later, the judge arrives and the Giant Trolls call for everyone to rise in his order, then to sit. When the judge settles in, he signals for Creek to be brought in.

All heads turn to the soft swish of footsteps melting into the plush haired floor. Same as before, his hands are tied and his hair tightly wound in a knot. When he’s brought to the stand, there’s a bascule and a stand. Two more Giant Trolls approach—one carrying a large bucket with a thick swirling black liquid and the other with a pair of shears—and all four surround him.

“Creek,” the judge begins quietly, folding his spectacles, “it’s with mild relief that I won’t be going through with my original sentencing. I was inclined to banish you from the village. However, based on the strength of your previous reputation as well as the heartfelt pleas of several of the trolls within the audience, your sentence will be lessened, but still severe. Call me a doting old fool for believing there’s no troll is entirely evil, but I do think there is vile darkness within you. Perhaps it doesn’t exist, but what you’ve done needs to be recognize and brought out on display for all to see as a reminder that we are all capable of cruelty. Sad as it is to believe.”

At a nod from his honor, the Giant Trolls approach. Creek looks at them in turn, then bows his head.

“You are hereby sentenced to your hair being trimmed to no less than two-thirds it’s length and your hair blackened for ten years. You will be eligible for probationary hearing after a period of five years has been served.”

Branch cringes to his core. That’s as harsh as exile. To stain a troll’s natural hair color may as well be equivalent to them being tortured. It’s horrible.

Branch couldn’t dare look as they began the ritual.

Creek shocked them all. He’d been complacent until he is brought to his knees and his head flattened into the bascule. Then a struggle commences and he loudly protests, demanding a different kind of punishment other this humiliation. His shouts go unanswered, his pleas are ignored and it’s so terribly difficult for everyone to listen to the once proud troll crumble and whimper as long hunks of his hair is cut and dipped into the bucket.

“No one understands,” he cries out, pulling at his tied wrists and kicking out. “I didn’t—I didn’t have a choice in the matter!”

“It’s the most befitting punishment for you, Creek,” says the judge.

“Take what you will of me, but my hair!” Creek jerks at his arms uselessly, eyes wild. “You know how sacred my hair is to me. My mothers gave me this hair. The green for Sonya, the blue for Zinnia. I have nothing else to remember them. I’d rather you take my life!”

More of his hair is dyed black, there being less blue, less of its lime tip. Before long, there’s nothing there to resemble his old hair style. When he’s lifted to his feet, his head is bowed and dribbles of the inky black slips down his face and his shoulders.

A soft sniffle is heard and it becomes the crowd’s undoing. Crying and sniffles reach touching octaves. They mourn and cry and hurt for him. No troll really wants to hurt one of their own kind. No matter if they deserve it.

Branch joins them, feeling two tears slip from his eyes and he roughly wipes them away and cradles Poppy against his chest as he releases all her anxiety like a waterfall. At last, he musters up the courage to see the full results of Creek’s new beginning and it feels unjustly, even if it’s deserving.

Creek glances over his shoulder, locking his gaze with Branch. There’s that tiny sad smile again and it disappears. Then he faces the front and joins in everyone’s sadness.

In the months to follow, no one bothered Creek.

His pod, the one that once resided in the center of the Troll Village adjacent to Poppy’s castle pod, had withered and fallen into a pruned shadow of its formal form. Without a troll’s happiness to feed a pod’s core, it rarely lasts much longer. That’s how many of the villagers knew that Creek had moved away.

Where, they didn’t discover until a full year had past and Creek made a quiet appearance at a grocery-pod looking for food. He hadn’t moved too far off after all. He just doesn’t live in the open like the others. Nobody’s discovered where just yet.

He’d gone through such a drastic change, hardly anyone recognized him. It’d been more difficult for Branch than others to see Creek this way.

His skin has paled, turning an ashen lilac, and eyes once a deep cerulean blue were hallowed and faded like crushed pebbles. This isn’t the troll anyone knew. Who was once Creek is more like a wandering ghost, avoiding every shred of light and attention. Perhaps, it was easier for Branch to spot him because he’d been there. He knew what it was like to exist without really knowing you do.

Nonetheless, Branch thought it best to leave things as they are. Creek will come out of his misery on his own. No one as self-centered and confident as him will stay down for long.

By the following Spring, it’d become Branch’s hobby or well, obsession to wake up early and sit up high to watch the activities of the villagers. It became a game of sorts, seeing what everyone will get into today and predicting all their motives.

Yet, he found he had the most fun whenever he would spot Creek trying to roam through the village undetected. He would fail of course because since last winter, some trolls have been putting in the effort to make him feel welcome again. Especially Poppy and the Snack Pack. Thankfully, they didn’t overwhelm him like they had Branch. It’s easier to know their limits when knowing why a troll is grey. They didn’t have that luxury with Branch.

Sadly, all their invitations would go unanswered or their requests to out would be met in silence. Outside of a kind, reserved smile, or light wave, Creek doesn’t try to do much else outside of basic living.

Branch wishes he would hurry up and get back to normal. This isn’t like the Creek he once knew. . .

“He doesn’t eat much,” is what Smidge says during Branch, Poppy and the Snack Pack’s outing one day at one of the local cafes. Smidge sips at her oversized mug of cameral mocha latte smothered in whipped cream and licks the residue from her nose and upper lip. “I saw him last week and he looked like a pile of twigs. Even his hair’s a mess. Who knows when’s the last time he combed it.”

Branch listens adamantly to the conversation without contributing as he swirls his straw in his glass of water.

“He’s probably OK,” but DJ Suki doesn’t sound all that convinced of her own tone.

“Smidge-baby’s got a point, y’all.” Blabs Cooper, ever the observative one and most awfully blunt. “It’s been four weeks and he hasn’t come out. Doesn’t he need to eat?” Cooper’s face was pinched with grudging concern. “Should we…fix him a sandwich?”

DJ rolls her eyes. “Yeah, do that Cooper. Make ‘im a pumpkin pie. Betcha he’ll love that.”

“That’s rich comin’ from the gal who can’t cook.”

“Who burned down the kitchen?”

“Who burned down the pod?”

“Ouch, good comeback,” Guy Diamond chuckles behind his cup. He nurses it a moment then angles his head to the right to their silent company. “What do you think Branch?”

At the mention of his name, Branch tilts his head and regards Guy Diamond intently. “About what?”

“Creek not showing up in a while? Don’t you think it’s a little strange?”

Branch shrugs. “I used to go months without showing up in the village.”

“Maybe it’s a grey troll thing,” offers Biggie. “You guys think if we had stayed grey, we’d be weird and recluse too?”

Smidge gasps, super intrigued and bumps the table on her way up to slap her hands on the table. “Oh my God, that’s so it. It’s gotta be a grey thing!”

Branch’s jaw worked.

“Guys, enough,” Poppy kindly intervenes, voice tampering. “We were all grey once. It’s the worse feeling. . . nothing to make fun of.”

The others murmur their agreements, nodding and apologizing for being insensitive. Branch had left the conversation without being noticed. Only Poppy watched him leave while the others were engrossed about discussing details for the next party. When moments later, some of them asked where Branch had gone, she only said, “Happiness is inside all of us. He’s just gonna help someone find theirs again.”

Cooper’s so stupid.

God, he’s so freaking stupid. A sandwich, really?

That’s hardly filling.

In Branch’s opinion anyway. He thought, perhaps, a morning breakfast would be better. Everyone needs a full balanced meal to start off the day. So, why not?

It isn’t like he didn’t have the food or time to spare. And it just kind of happened.

One minute he’d been busy putting together a simple breakfast of eggs and bacon. Then he’d gone on from there. Somehow more than three slices were tossed in the pan—more like eight—and seven eggs were scrambled. Then came the curious side of him that wondered if cooking some honey lathered biscuits, sausage patties, and oatmeal, would be a promising idea.

Well, it’s a little late to renege on it now. He’s already packaged it neat and prettily inside this wicker basket wrapped in a warming cloth to keep the food hot.  Branch drums his fingers over the basket, staring stubbornly at the ground.

It’d taken him most of the day to find where Creek lives. Turns out he hadn’t moved too far away from the village. He just chose a very secluded section of the Troll Tree that anyone rarely ventures. It’s shrouded by large branches, entangled twigs and leaves. A lot of these were cleverly manipulated to hide the home.

Branch doesn’t spend much time admiring the innovativeness behind the idea and instead, working up the courage to knock on the door. He gives it three sharp raps, rocking back and forth on his heels.

“Just a moment,” Branch hears Creek voice politely say.

Then the butterflies soar off like a pack of lit fireworks. Branch panics. Screw it, he can’t do this. He looks frantically everywhere. The doorknob turns and he has enough time to leave the basket on the doorstep before shooting his hair up to haul himself out of sight just as the door creaks open.

Branch keeps quiet, ducking behind the closest hiding place he found grab—on top of Creek’s freaking pod—God, he’s so pathetic.

“Hello?” Creek steps out fully, looking this way and that, even looking up.

Branch shrinks away, covering his mouth.

Creek makes a small hum and a perplexed noise leaves him upon discovering the basket. “Oh.” Branch peers over the edge to see Creek bending forward to pluck the basket off the ground.  The lid is lifted and a sniff is heard. “How thoughtful,” is Creek’s hushed awe. “Who could have. . . why?” The lid is closed and after casting another look around, Creek goes inside with the basket, closing the door behind him.

When Branch is sure the coast is clear, he escapes with the largest pleased smile on his face. He doesn’t have a clue why the fluttering in his chest has him bouncing all over the place.

 

So, for the next four months, Branch has developed a new favorite game. It’s become doing fun things for Creek while Creek doesn’t have a clue he’s doing it. This game’s a whole lot more fun because, well, Branch kind of likes seeing the different expressions on Creek’s face. Like, what gifts created which blushes, what foods brought out his best smiles, and other kind gestures like cleaning his windows and trimming the leaves around his pod were just pleasurable add-ons.

The smiles were the best. They weren’t all equal, but every day, Branch can swear they’re becoming more genuine and dare he believe, almost reaching the charming levels Creek was once renowned for.

There’s got to be more ways to bright his spirits. Branch will figure something out.

“Poetry?”

“Yeah, I figured what better way to loosen up his tight spirit then with poetry? You said yourself he enjoys reading it.”

“Yeah, but that was before the whole betraying-his-fellow-troll-to-the-fate-of-drowning-in-stomach-acid bit.”

“Maybe his tastes haven’t adjusted too much.”

Poppy flops on her back, thrusting her arm across her eyes. They’ve been at this discussion for two hours. Branch came over this morning begging for advice on how to best approach Creek. It’s no secret between them that he’s developed this radical crush on Creek and he feels grateful he can talk to her about it, despite how they parted ways in their own relationship. That breakup had been difficult for them both, but it’d been his whole fault. He wasn’t sure how he could provide her with the affections she wanted and they were just, well, far too different. Friendship made tolerating each other’s company so much easier. There’s no expectations to be upheld and with the pressures of being queen, she couldn’t really pursue a relationship anyway. Not with so many demands taking up her time.

“Fine,” Poppy finally concedes, righting herself on the couch. A lash of hair lengthens to her lamp stand, withdrawing a notepad and gel pen from the drawer. She passes them to Branch and beckons him to recite what he has in mind.

Branch paces back and forth in front of her, echoing out his suggestion. “ _I think you’re as sweet as treacle tarts, let my tongue taste you as I spread your legs apart_ —”

“NOPE!” Poppy snatches the paper and crunches it into a ball tossing it away. “More romantic and little less steamy, yeah? We don’t want to try something that will make him drop his pants right away.”

Branch bounces his eyebrows. “I’m kinda hopin’ we get to that point quickly.”

“I guess you’re going to shoot for having him barefoot and with-pod in your t-shirts too?”

Branch looks honestly intrigued and grins big.

“Oh, you pig—you pervert!” Poppy breaks off in a strangled huff. Branch’s in the middle of laughing and doesn’t see her reaching for a shoe to beam him across the head with. He darts away, glaring at her and the shoe in his hand like it could wilt it away with his glare. “Try being a little creative!”

“I have been!” Branch snaps back. “I’m asking you to help me write poetry. I don’t have a poetic bone in my body.”

Poppy grabs her notebook, settles into an armchair and taps a pen to her chin. “So, I’m assuming you want this to rhyme?”

“Don’t all poems do?”

“No and it’s adorable how stupid you’re being.”

“Shut up.”

“Anyway, you want it to talk about what?”

Branch starts to pace up and down her living room, listing off all the features he admires most about Creek. “I miss his confidence. Even if it was a lethal weapon in the wrong hands, it suits him. Talk about his charm too. And his accent, I’ve always liked that. Oh, and his color. No one’s better at being purple.”

“I beg to differ. You don’t know Flint, Marshall and Clay that well,” Poppy smoothly objects, wagging her pen. “But that’s an argument for another time. What else?”

“His hair.”

“Too sensitive. Pick something else.”

“Oh, um, his body?”

“Stop right there, I refuse to help you achieve a wet dream tonight.”

Branch scratches behind his head. “You’re making this really hard.”

“It’s only because I care,” she says sweetly. “Keep going. I’m having fun!”

“That’s what worries me.” Branch sighs, scratching behind his head, frustrated. “There’s so much to him that I admire, ya know? I really, really, miss his arrogance, his cocky smile, that hoity tot way he used to stroll through the village like the entire world owed him a bow and his eyes. . . They’re just. . . they were so full of energy. I want that Creek back. I know he used to work my last nerve, but that’s all in the past. I can be forgiving. And if he does end up making fun of me again, well, I just hope he’s ready to take it in throes, ‘cause I’m comin’ locked and loaded too.”

Poppy’s head bobbles up and down the entire time Branch rants, gel pen scratching off notes as fast as she can. With a sharp peck to paper, she squeals, bending her knees happily. “I think we’ve got a winner here.”

“Really?” Branch beams. “Great, what’s it say?”

“Come help me finish it.” Poppy pats the space next to her excitedly. “He’s gonna love it.”

Branch fills in the spot beside his friend, taking the notepad she passes to him and her pen. He jots in some suggestions, letting her approve or disapprove the add-ons. Before long, the pair finally manage to come to an agreement on what’s sensible, not overly sensual, and kind and supportive and super romantic.

“One more thing,” Poppy says to Branch as he gathers his scarf.

“Yeah?”

“Good luck, I’m keeping my fingers crossed.”

“Thanks Poppy.” Then he leaves, folded paper in hand and a pep to his step.

After months of scaling up this side of the Troll Tree, he’s learned to map out the easiest route up and down the truck without being spotted or making a noise. Creek is never the wiser when a leaf is accidentally shakes free or a twig snaps. Those can easily be excused as some critter casually crawling their way through the tree. They weren’t the only creatures who made the Troll Tree their own home after all.

He reaches the top, peering above his safety branch and it’s the perfect one. It’s always kept him hidden while he kept an eye on Creek and where he could catch the grey troll’s smiles, as few and in between they were. But not finding Creek in his home shouldn’t have been all that surprising. There were times Branch came around and Creek were in the village buying some necessities. Just enough to survive on.

What isn’t so normal is the sun’s rays gathering in a solid spot like no other place on the planet needs warmth, and there being Creek, facing the sunset. The shine catches the awkward curve threatening to grow back at the top of his head and its black sleekness. The haloing orange glow seems to wrap around Creek’s whole body, folded as he was with his knees brought to his chest and his arms holding them there, high up, unseen, unnoticed.

And that is when Branch felt the sudden piercing in his chest. That is it. The vision of Creek looking at peace, so vulnerable, right here, right there, penetrates his heart like a flaming arrow and burns in an explosive furnace.

Branch nearly stumbles off his perch, pressing a hand over his chest. The feeling’s intense, so strong. He wonders, he wonders if this is what the elders almost spoke about; that whole spark that blooms upon finding love at first sight. No feeling has ever touched him like this. It’s so monstrous and the urge powerful. Branch wants. . . he wants to—

_Sniffling?_

Branch’s ears twitch as that soft noise comes once more, ominously. His mind centers and he follows it upward. Creek rubs his eyes with one hand and bows his face in his arms.

Branch is moving before the command has a chance to register in his brain. Creek. Crying. Pain to the one responsible is all that processes. He’s swinging up and landing by the other troll’s side in seconds, poem deep in his pocket and hands clenched at his side.

Creek jerk’s his face up, blinking wearily, eyes red and puffy. “Branch? What are you—”

Instead of talking right away, Branch comes forward to kneel by Creek’s side and takes his hands and leans towards him. “Did someone say something to you? Was it Rosette again?”

“No, I—no.”

“Then who?” Branch quietly growls. “Tell me their name and I’ll rip their hair out to the roots!”

“Branch, wait a minute,” Creek comes to his feet, gently pulling his hands away to clean his eyes. “Please stop. I’m not following anything you’re saying. What are you even doing here? What do you want?”

“I, um, oh.” It drops on him like a sprung trap that he’s landed by Creek like some knight in shining armor and super creepy for that matter because it’s very first time in a nearly two years that he’s said a word to the troll. “I was just checking on you.”

Creek unknowingly puts more distance between them. “I’m fine.” He wraps his arms around his torso, looking at the horizon again. “No one’s bothered me. Nobody wants to. I don’t want them too.”

“That isn’t true, Creek. I know you’ve seen a lot of trolls try to talk to you. _Nobody_ likes seeing you grey. . .” ‘ _I wish you weren’t too,’_ goes unsaid.

“It’s what I deserve. For all I’ve done, for being so selfish and thinking only of myself.”

“You were threatened,” Branch calmly reasons, holding up his hands as if to coax a kitten close.

Creek slinks back a step. “So were you and the others, but none of you were scared into betraying the village. You were brave. You guys saved everyone from my mistake. . . I had you all trapped in a Hell I created.”

“But we escaped. In no small way, if you hadn’t forced King Gristle’s hand, we wouldn’t have been able to forge the peace between us and the bergens.”

Creek chuckles bitterly. “Ah yes, the indirect conventional aid of yours truly was what made the difference. Don’t insult me, Branch. I know what I’ve done and I’m willing to accept my punishment.” His fingers weakly trail over his arms, eyes closing tight. “Grey skin and all.”

“I. . . I don’t like it on you.”

Creek opens eyes, peering up at the crack in Branch’s tone.

Branch’s mouth tightens and takes a deep breath to churn the ache in his chest at seeing Creek look so broken. “It’s not who you are, Creek. I don’t want to see you like this. I-I miss who you once were. I want _that_ Creek back. Make fun of me, snap at me for being paranoid, call me a nitwit or silly over eccentric freak or whatever in that pretty accent, but don’t shut everyone out. Don’t—don’t shut _me_ out.”

Creek fully angles his body to face Branch, slightly shaking his head, mouth opening and closing to muted words.

“Why do I care?” Branch offers to ask the question so evident on Creek’s face. At the grey troll’s nod, Branch continues, “Maybe it started at your trial. You didn’t fight against your guilt. You knew you’d done wrong and didn’t defend yourself with lies. You were honest. You’ve become humble. I’m glad you have a part of you now, but don’t allow your mistakes to swallow you up.  I’m not exactly feelin’ this whole— _this_.” He gestures towards all of Creek.

And Creek narrows his eyes. “You’ve just gestured to all of me.”

“Because it’s _all of you_ that’s annoying the crap outta me.”

Creek wipes at his eyes again, chuckling, carrying a more musical ring to it. He glances away, cheeks a little flush, showing some of his old lavender shade. “You must be a glutton for punishment, then. I don’t remember being particularly kind towards you.”

Branch shrugs, folding his arms. “You were a jerk, but I’d prefer that than you being holed up like a hermit. It’s creepy. That’s how I used to be.” It dawns on him how bad off he was and shudders. “I am _so glad_ I got over that.”

“I’ve noticed,” murmurs Creek, motioning his hand up and down Branch’s body. “You have your colors again. I never seen them before. What is that? Mint or maybe turquoise?”

“I’m still trying to figure that out. Poppy and DJ argued for days over it. Poppy says powder blue and DJ says teal.”

“And your hair?”

“I told them it was royal purple, but the girls say royal blue.”

Creek edges forward, fingers drumming in the crook of his arms. “I think it’s more like purple.”

Branch brightens and reaches up to pull a handful of his hair down to check. “You think so?”

“Yes.” Creek reaches out, then retracts his hand. He blinks at Branch. “Do you mind?”

“NO!” Branch says louder than intended and closes the space between them, kindly dipping his head for Creek’s inspect. “Touch it,” he says low, almost breathless, secretly craving it.

It takes too long for Branch’s patience, but Creek works up the courage to lightly graze his fingertips along the outermost of Branch’s hair. It isn’t enough. Branch takes a tiny step, openly encouraging Creek to touch it as freely as he pleases.

“Thank you,” Creek says and uses both his hands to cradle the shape of Branch’s hair, using tender strokes up and down, peeling thin pieces out to waft between his fingers before it easily drifts back into place. “It’s so soft,” Creek comments mistily. “I thought it’d be course.”

“Nah, not mine. I’ve got my mama’s hair.” Branch nearly strains to speak, knees threatening to buckle with delight.

He’s only ever had Poppy touch his hair so loving and that’d been years ago. Now, he has someone with just as gentle hands caressing the locks the way a mother nestles a child or how a lover touches their partner. Hands hovering in places and then skating to pay some attention to other parts, almost become Branch’s undoing. Who cares about the tiny ache in his neck from leaning forward or how weak his resolve was towards not snatching Creek against him and kissing him senseless.

This is blessed heaven.

“Branch?”

“Hmmm,” Branch purrs and could care less how provocative it sounds.

“Your hair is, um, it’s. . .doing things.”

Branch blinks, mind fuzzy. He lifts his head a bit and blinks again.

Both of Creek’s arms are wrapped in throes of royal purple hair up to his elbows, some bits walking up the front of Creek’s exposed chest caressing where his shoulder and neck met, and coiling in little hunks of Creek’s black hair.

Branch stares petrified, absolutely speechless. “Oh my God, Creek, I am so sorry!” Branch wills his hair away with some major urgency, trying not to melt from his own blush. When it all retreats into its upright flare, Branch gathers handfuls of it and watches as the tips stretch out of their own will towards Creek. “Hair, why?” Branch whines, and roughly shoves it back up. “I’m sorry. It’s never done that before—Freakin’ stop, will ya?” Branch snaps, smacking it back in place.

Branch pouts when he hears Creek laugh. It’s far too sweet and magical and missed for him to be really upset. He’ll stand on his head and eat roots if it means to wring that gorgeous sound more often.

Creek wipes a merry tear from his eyes. “You’re adorable,” he says between chuckles. When he’s gained some control of his laughter, Creek smile is soft and the small twinkle in his eyes bewitch Branch to his core and that funny feeling increases tenfold. “I’ve never seen it for myself. ‘ _When a troll is too shy to admit their affections, your hair has no fear of revealing your confessions._ ’ That’s how the saying goes, yes?”

“Yeah, so?”

“It’s beautiful.”

Branch flushes from neck to roots. “You think so?”

Creek nods, daring to reach out again. The hairs don’t wildly attack like as before, some coming forth to curl around his wrist and between his fingers. “I was just thinking,” he says quietly, “about your hair’s shape. Who’d have thought yours would modify into the shape of a flower? A foxglove of all things.” Shaking his head, he draws his hand away to tuck under his armpit. “Your hair is more honest then you, Branch,” says Creek. “And here I’ve been wondering why you were spying on me so much.”

“I was not!”

“You were.” Creek looks away, his smile still gentle. “I’m glad you finally came to see me. I’ve been wanting to speak to you.”

“Y-you have?”

Creek timidly looks up through his lashes. “Yes, not to apologize for my actions towards you in the past, to thank you for the gifts, your kind and I at least wanted to congratulate you gaining your colors again.” He outstretches one of his hands. “So, I sincerely apologize, offer my thanks and offer you my greatest congratulations. . . if you’re willing to accept this humbled troll’s felicitations and make amends?”

“I do,” Branch says without hesitation, taking Creek’s hand with a firm squeeze. “I accept that and more.”

He suddenly flexes his arm and drags Creek forward, securely fastening his arms around the grey troll’s waist. Creek finds his chest pressed to smooth warmth, just a peek of it that’s not barricaded by Branch’s leafy vest, and all parts brushing against other parts. His arms hadn’t figured out where they want to be yet so they stayed at his sides.

“Can you accept this happy troll’s kiss and affections? I’ve waited a while to do it,” whispers Branch. He reaches down to guide Creek’s hands around his neck and returns to holding the grey troll’s waist. “No pressure, I promise. Hit me later for being so forward, but I have to know what it feels like to touch you and hold you and—and maybe. . .”

It’s a long shot and Branch knows he’s about to risk bodily harm via Creek’s right hook, but this troll has lain out a few offenders in the past, but Branch is willing to take that risk.

He thought it was him leaning forward, but the time it would’ve taken to meet Creek’s lips is too soon and he figures Creek takes charge and touches their mouths together and drank all of Branch’s gasp. His hand comes to rest lightly on Branch’s cheek, a fleeting touch that make’s the teal blue troll’s skin flame.

Creek presses closer, pulling at the back of Branch’s neck, gripping one hand on his shoulder and seeming to want to dive into his mouth. Their connection is messy and a time, their teeth click. Branch figures the more they move into it, it becomes better, messier. He loves it like that. The way Creek’s tongue would slip between their mouths and Branch closes in to wrap his lips around it waggling in the open and sucks it back in his mouth like a piece of candy he never intended to let go of.

There are so many parts of Creek he wants to touch and his mind is screaming finally, finally, finally because he can happily touch those places without fear of reprimand. And he does so, rubbing up and down pure, heated skin, fingers slipping beneath the yellow trousers’ waistband to feel the tender skin there and pulling back to dip underneath and scoop to handfuls of Creek’s wonderful butt.

Branch squeezes. God, there’s so much butt to have and it’s all his. Creek trembles, panting hoarse.

“ _Mmm_ , wait, _mm_ , wait,” Creek says in between kisses. “If we go much further, _mm, mm,_ someone will see.”

“ _Mmm_ , I don’t care. Let ‘em.” Branch soundly suckles Creek’s bottom lip. “Then they’ll know who you belong too.”

The glassy shine in Creek’s eyes, like smothering marble blue, almost gain an eerie glow. “You’ll have me?”

“All of you,” Branch’s voice is a rough mix of pants and growls when his face dives to capture Creek’s lips in more devouring kisses.

“Take me then, have me here,” Creek says, his hair flying, going to coil tight around Branch’s and the massive swirl of colors grinding the way his hips ground into Branch’s. “Go on, do it, please.” His voice is wild and desperate like the fire in Branch’s blood roaring in his ears.

Then Branch hikes Creek up high and the other troll wraps his legs around Branch’s waist to stay anchored in placed as Branch leaves hungry mouth kisses on his throat, sucking hard at his pulse point, moving them to brace against the tree truck.

“No one’s ever made me feel like this,” Creek says with his lips pressed into the shell of Branch’s ear so he can feel every word spoken and the heat from his breath blowing. His hands exploded the outer shape of Branch’s head and pulls him tighter to his neck.  “Not even the trolls before you. None have made me feel so wanted.”

A harsh nip is applied to Creek’s throat at the mention of previous trolls. Branch doesn’t want to hear about other trolls who’ve land their unworthy hands on what’s his. No one will ever have the luxury of knowing how hot Creek’s skin is in the throes of passion, how fogged and hypnotic his eyes become when suffering from overwhelming zest. They will never, ever, hear him sound like this either.

A huffy laugh is heard, followed by his seductive husk, “Does that make you jealous, Branch? Hearing that there were others before you?” Something about the power he held over Branch, after hearing that short hitch in Branch’s breathing, put the heat of the devil in Creek. “None recently,” he whispers as the grinding against his groin became rougher. “But-but there were many, so many of them that were where you are now—”

The ugliest, sexiest sound Creek has ever heard is snarled in his neck and he’s let down and his hands shoved above his head. He nearly ducks away at the carnality flash back at him. “Creek—”

Creek couldn’t help himself. Provoking him with these lies is becoming addictive. “You want their names, don’t you? I couldn’t possibly begin to remember them all. The experiences are all blurred, but their faces I’ll always hold dear, the way they held me down and mated me into a blind stupor.”

The Branch laughs, devilishly low and strained. “Babe, if I didn’t know any better, I’d think you were tryna’ torture me. Or get somebody real hurt later.” The latter half is viciously sneered. Branch allows his hair to snake out and wrap in tangling bundles with Creek’s fading black. The squeezing matches the strength he uses in keeping Creek restrained.

“What are you thinking now?” Creek’s gaze becomes taunting, pleading. “Hurting them or being in their place?”

“Neither,” Branch drops to his knees, pulling Creek’s trousers down as he went. “No one exists outside of me,” he speaks to the throbbing sex bounding eagerly at the cool air. Branch licks his lips and goes forward, pushing one of Creek’s thighs up and over his shoulder, pulling the other up and with minimal effort, lifts Creek up against the tree’s truck the way one would a simple apple.

Branch engulfs Creek whole.

Creek screams, unheeded to his head banging against the truck and whines when he can’t move. Branch’s hair has taken to snagging his wrists and cuffing them away, and spreading his legs wide for access. He went at him like something past mad, sucking at Creek’s swelled sac, full of seed and sucked the full length of him, bathing it all in Branch’s saliva.

Spittle dripples down Creek’s cheek as he pants, feeling robbed of oxygen and sense. All he could feel is the burning and coiling knot so close to springing in a chaotic splash. He tugs, struggles, wants to touch Branch’s head so he can stop and not stop his tortuous swallowing.

Creek gasps out, feeling the tingles bundle and corkscrew in his belly. He looks down and sees Branch’s eyes looking right back at him, compassionate and unyielding. His thighs were already bruising where Branch gripped.

“Oh my God,” Creek moans, hips frantically pumping. Legs quivering, he feels the first loosening of his orgasm and the jerk of the rest of the sensation being ripped from him. “Ah, Branch!” Branch keeps his head still, letting Creek mate his mouth as he saw fit until every drop oozes out of him. Branch collects the seed in his cheeks, swirling the taste on his tongue before spitting it in his palm.  

Boneless, Creek shags and would be a puddle if not for the hair keeping him aloft.  He’s lowered, and strong hands are turning him to face the truck. Then his hands are freed and his legs. Branch wedges his knee between Creek’s legs to spread them apart. Creek vaguely hears clothes hitting the ground and the slick squish of wetness being stroked on something.

Then the blunt feel of something probing between his cheeks instinctively has him gripping at the tree. Creek glances once over his shoulder. The glare there almost makes him come again; Branch’s face is primal supremacy. Branch’s hands work over gentle circles on Creek’s behind before spreading them open and lining himself up.

“I’ll go slow,” he whispers, jabbing by little measures to impale the head. At Creek’s sharp intake, Branch shushes him, rubbing at the length of his back. “At first, I will. Then when I know you’re ready, you’re gonna take all of me.” By now he’s worked half of himself inside and keeps the slow pace of pressing in until he’s pressed flush to Creek’s back and cozily nuzzles his face in the back of his neck. He flicks his tongue to touch his hair and adds, “But now I’m gonna take you fast and hard. You’d better call my name out too.”

“I will,” Creek’s wheezes, head lolling back on Branch’s shoulder, exposing more neck for Branch to rub his hand over and for his lips to kiss. “I swear I will, Branch!”  

Branch jerks his hips once. Creek goes wild, eyelids flutter, mouth gaping. A sharp, hard thrust nearly has him climbing the truck and his grip digs into the bark. Branch wraps his arms around Creek’s waist and squeezes him to him, dissolving every smidge of space there is. He didn’t feel the air deserved to get between them. Then he draws his hips back and shoves in.

“Ah!” Creek’s feet come off the ground and his butt pushes back. “Oh, Branch!”

“You like it rough?” Branch growls.

“Please yes!” Creek whimpers, hugging Branch’s arms around him.

“You’ve never had anyone mate you like this, have you Creek?”

“N-no, never. Never, ever oh! —Ah God, Branch, Bra- _anch_!” He sobs brokenly, delirious with want and an awful ache and burning.

“Yeah, yeah, that’s it, Creek. You feel so _goooood_.”

By now, there’s no telling how many trolls have heard the noise of them mating and Creek could care less. Branch for sure wanted them to see. As far as he’s concerned, it’s good the rumors go around that he’s claimed Creek. That way no other troll will get any foolish ideas.    

Branch feels his resolve weakening. Not just yet. He’ll have Creek cum again before he does. It’s what a proper mate would do.

_Mate._

_Mate, yeah. Oh yeah._

Branch curves into Creek backside and quickens his thrusts, aiming only for the special place rippling pleasure through Creek’s spine. The grey troll howls, constricting Branch’s sex as he releases again, forcing Branch to join him as well. Branch hooks his arms around Creek’s waist, feeling the involuntarily jots rattle his body as he spilled all his essence, grunting per spurt.

They crumble slowly to their knees, Branch refusing to let go as he maneuvers him to lay on the branch, facing the darkened horizon. Creek squirms to turn around, panting, smiling, tired.

“You animal,” he tiredly teases. “What a rush.”

Branch curves an arm behind his head. “I didn’t know I had it in me, whew, either.” He tugs Creek against his side, feathering his fingers over his shoulder. Creek lays a hand on Branch’s chest, drawing lines, circles, then hearts with their names in them. Branch takes his hand, joining their fingers.

“Ya know what?” says Branch.

“Hmm?”

Branch snickers. “I bet the rumors are gonna spread like your thighs did.”

Creek rolls his eyes. “Idiot. Get up. It’s bad enough we rutted out here like common creatures.”

“Nah, let’s stay here. M’ tired anyway.”

“I’m sticky and I’ll be darn if we stay naked out in the open.” He tugs a reluctant Branch to his feet and they make their way into Creek’s pod. Neither had the energy for another mating round, but things did get heated during their shower.

Soon, they’re beneath the sheets, not quite ready to stop feeling the other’s skin pressed against his and stay nude, cozied up together, happy, under the moon’s haunting shine. Branch is in and out of slumber. Only Creek feels unable to really sleep. He wants to bask in being in Branch’s arms and the fear of this being just a wondrous dream hasn’t left him yet.

“Thank you,” Creek says some time later.

Branch, murmurs drowsily, eyes closed. “For what?”

Creek kisses Branch’s cheek and looks at their clasped hand, where the signs of grey-lilac fade and the start of lavender begins. “For believing in me again. For giving me hope.”

Branch absently kisses Creek’s forehead and hugs him closer. “Anytime, babe.”

Creek smirks, patting Branch’s face until he’s fallen asleep. And when he’s sure the teal blue troll is, Creek reaches under the pillow for the sheet of paper he found in Branch’s pocket. He reads moonily over the words etched in terrible handwriting, but they’re the kindest, most beautiful verses he’d ever read.

 

_Shine Bright Lavender Child_

_It goes against what you believed in to go unseen._

_You bloom and grow tall to grab the sun._

_Summer’s over and your shine’s gone._

_Autumn’s here to put you down into the ground._

_You feel alone. No one’s around to praise and remind you of your beauty._

_The cold seeps through and feels eternal._

_But Lavender Child, winter doesn’t last always. You’ll be a seed once more._

_The sun hasn’t forgotten you._

_So grow again and stay strong._

_Never forget. You’ve always been beautiful. Without or without the sun._

_You shine on your own Lavender Child._

 

Creek folds it, tucking it in his hair and lays down, pulling Branch’s arm over him. “You’re all the shine I need, love.” Closing his eyes, Creek sighs happily, ready to meet the rest of his life with renewed hope and love.

 

**Author's Note:**

> I suck balls at poems. Oh well. Anyway, if you have any Breek requests, remember to lemme know. I love a good challenge as long as it's sensible. Thanks for reading my dears!


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